WESTERN EDGE OF NORTH AMERICAN COVID DREAM

The Pacific Ocean at sundown with clouds catching the last dream of an Oregon day.

If you still have dreams, do you share them? Do you know how to share a dream?

Me neither, but I still try and work it out. See if this is helpful:

I dream of a day when a self-centered population wakes the hell up and puts on a mask. Cover your pie hole, brother, and stop acting like you are invulnerable.

Look, Superman, you’re not invincible. That big red S on your chest is just the last letter at end of your tag. The first letter is A. The next is S. Fill in the blanks and don’t be an a-hole. You can do it.

And while you’re at it, if you’ve figured out the mask wearing part of disease prevention, help others.

Calling names is not helpful, if that’s any part of any dream. If it is, take a nap. In other words, don’t accost someone without a mask. Don’t drive them crazy until they melt straight the hell down and break.

I dream of a time when good sense rides over wishful thinking. Do you want to know wishful thinking?

If you accidentally chop your arm off, it’s not growing back. You are not a starfish. In fact, starfish are no longer called that. Now they are called sea stars, since they’re not a fish.

Before you feel politically corrected, go ahead and stow your outrage. Starfish don’t give a damn.

Who does give a damn are people in distress from covid, and their gathered family as the lights dim. What’s it like on a death watch?

One of the sweetest old ladies I’ve ever known, my mother in law, took a fall while she was helping her old dog on the steps. She had a headache.

The headache got worse. After an ambulance ride to the hospital a scan showed a massive brain bleed. The professionals in the room said it wasn’t survivable. It was a stunning revelation.

She was conscious, able to squeeze her hand for yes and no questions. But she didn’t know the circumstances. After a nurse broke the news that she wasn’t going to get better, she stopped responding to yes and no questions.

The news sunk in for everyone and she started squeezing it out after half an hour. It was a goodbye squeeze, and one of the saddest things.

She was ninety years old at the end of a great life. We had been out for drinks three days earlier.

I have a dream that no one should see their kids, parents, neighbors, stretched out in a hospital bed with their last breath administered by a machine.

If wearing a mask, washing hands, and keeping a distance is the key, do it. The alternative is a heartbreaker.